Some days I love facebook and this is one of those days.... (even with the stoopid, stoopid, stoopid new "interface" -- I only know it's called that because Greg piped up and said he liked it; and you know, I love Greg.... but... bastard!)
But thanks to the crude new feed (that barely works), at least everyone could still discern that I was looking for a Mule to head over to my alma mater and bring me some damn donuts -- preferably, without using their hands -- and lo, via the miracle of Facebook Chat, I had an offer. From an ex who had A. Read the Link, and B. brought me the occasional.... baker's dozen.... in the past. (He's who last week's blog was about, though honestly, I tend to forget he and all the other Ex-es read it. And have probably formed their own Facebook Support Group.)
I wouldn't have classified us as incredibly serious, but serious enough to know Monday is Clean Sheets Day. Not only that, the entire house is clean, because I scrubbed it on my hands and knees after my mother's mop comments finally got the best of me. Even my mother would agree it would be wrong to waste all that effort, much less the premature Valentine undergarment shopping.... (Admittedly, sometimes I get confused about the difference between sxting and cooking and housekeeping and unmentionables in terms of what's sexy, but man, I am telling you this place Sparkles. Also, I am telling you the definition of "unmentionable" is obviously pretty much lost on me. But for me, it all kinda runs together and I have more BettyDraper in me than I'd like to admit sometimes. Though mostly, we can all agree, I am Don.)
Awkwardly enough, however, I did happen to have all my social media windows open on the Pank while I was chattin' on the BlackBerry with my girl Sarah, watching for the theoretical snOMGeddinit 2010 (unforgivably rude, I know -- I just forgot to close the lid when the phone rang) when this new little chat window popped right up (so to speak) with the subject line from an old classmate, "pants on the ground," followed by some generously specific baked goods offers. He had been over to our old stomping grounds for something we call "Bid Day," and had some booty to share. (Sarah's from Out West, so she thinks our snOMGeddins are hilarious. By the way.)
To add to the loot, I offered up Rachel's homemade chocolate pie (yeah, I'm not proud of that. But everybody knows I can't bake for Chrissake -- I can't front. I've prostituted Rachel before. She knows it. She loves me. I think she'd bake me another one right now if I asked her.)
I dispense Social Media Manners all day everyday, but I gotta admit even I haven't covered quite this level of multitasking -- so I just blurted out what was going on to Sarah, to which she promptly responded, "wellllll, I understand if you need to go," followed by, "uhhhh, seriously. Don't Let Me Keep You." But then we ended up staying on the phone for at least half the chat with him, trying to figure out, between us, how to do "porn emoticons." (We never did find them, so if you know...) She wanted me to respond entirely differently, for example, to "what are you wearing?" -- but on a Monday night? He's known me long enough to know it's the Harvey Milk t-shirt and the snowflake pajamas. And, as one of the funniest guys I know, he naturally had some horribly tasteless yet hilarious comments to make.
Sarah has been on this exhaustive campaign to find me a new boyfriend since about Christmas which is about the time her patience wore right out with the last one. (Justifiably, in her defense.) She didn't make it to my annual New Year's brunch because she was outta town, but what she told all of my friends she saw the following week was that for 2010, they would each be assessed One Candidate for me. Only the Few and the Proud. She calls it The "Ace Boyfriend FancyFarm." She wants a little "speechifyin'" and a good solid platform. Augmented by Pie. Perhaps BBQ. What she said, in her sweet, sweet way of mixing metaphors is, "I want to find a pie out there worthy of your mouth missy." God love 'er.
So to be honest, thanks to Sarah and her minions (and I think, a database) it had been rainin' men 'round here for awhile -- there was never a shortage of emergency straights or recycles or candidates or anything else -- but I had the good grace to show some respect for the dead and at least wait to be dumped. I said I was in. I was in. I said I was committed and exclusive, I reported as ordered (and there were times when that was no mean feat). No marine ever took the honor code more seriously than I did. Now unfettered and unshackled, I am free to obliterate the memory of all those months of disrespect as I see fit.
I keep comin' back to this -- but ya teach people how to treat ya, and while I had been teaching everybody that "casual disregard" was definitely the way to go, how I really prefer to be treated is: a constant supply of Donuts and a twice-daily spirited game of Ring Toss. It's that Simple. I keep coming back to this, but I am so, so, so Not Complicated. That really IS all it takes. As girlfriends go -- excluding maybe the guy who inexplicably turned around and ran last weekend when he saw me in front of the bourbon -- I'm not as bad a gig as I am sometimes made out to be.
The Valentine Shopping and project alone (undertaken weeks ago) was a work of art that would make Jack Donaghy blush with schoolgirlish envy. Nothing extravagant, just excruciatingly thoughtful. Hours and hours and hours of Labor. Yeeesh, why'd I bother? I find out mid-dump he already wanted to give back his Christmas Present..... Please? Seriously? Ease up man. It's not an engagement ring. It's a grill tool; that thing'd never fit around his ring finger. What'd I want with it? I can't even grill. That's what I have a man for. Not this man of course. But there will be another. A Stronger Man, perhaps this time -- more able to stick up for himself, and even for me if it came down to it. I do it everyday. Again, People, what have we learned: boyfriends ain't Unicorns.
(Apparently, you can go to a Facebook Group that will now supply references that attest to this. I think they're on Linked In too.)
Maybe....maybe... it is time to ...to take some broth.
Because I have come one long fucking way since 1994.